


Pink Lady Bic

by Merlin Missy (mtgat)



Category: Empire Records (1995)
Genre: F/M, Suicide Attempt, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:11:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtgat/pseuds/Merlin%20Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why Debra cut her hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink Lady Bic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clare_dragonfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clare_dragonfly/gifts).



> Warning: discussion of suicide attempt and suicidal thoughts consistent with canon

When Deb lets herself think about things, she feels like she's trapped. She looks at Gina and Corey as the two halves of what she wants: giving into what feels good right now, or holding out for the goals she's supposed to have or some shit. And she can't. Goals are for girls like Corey, who have a future. Feeling good right now is for girls who can still feel. Deb's not either one.

She wants the others to notice her and like her. She wants them to leave her alone because fuck that noise, she doesn't need anyone. She doesn't need Berko with his clumsy hands and inability to think past his next orgasm. She doesn't need the pitying looks from Joe and A.J., and God knows what's going on in Lucas's brain on the best of days. She doesn't need their shitty sympathy. And she does. And it fucking sucks.

The Lady Bic scraped and stung. She could've broken the plastic to get to the razor blades inside, but it was more effort than she could manage. She could've taken a handful of numbness from the bottles of pills in the medicine cabinet, or drowned herself in the rust-stained bathtub, or walked in front of a car. She thought about each possibility while pink then red pieces of skin flaked from her wrists, until even this stupid, beyond bare minimum attempt was too much effort.

And now she's here at her fucking stupid job on fucking stupid Rex Manning Day with her wrists wrapped up because she can't risk bleeding all over the floor and her clothes, and she can't think and she can't feel. Maybe she'll rip off the bandages and bleed over Sexy Rexy, and call it performance art.

Deb wants to write words all over her skin with permanent markers. The only thing stopping her is that she doesn't know what to say. "Here is my letter to the world that treated me like a dog turd." Poetic, yet brutal, yet no point at all. Corey's the artist. Deb could ask her to draw The Scream on the skin of her back, but Corey's a bitch so no.

She hates her skin. She hates her hair. She hates her life.

Deb looks at her wrist again. She couldn't pick off the skin. She couldn't end her life.

The hair, though, that she can do something about. It's not a scream written on her body, but it'll have to do.


End file.
